The Man Who Killed Me
by I-Dream-In-Black-And-White
Summary: Life isn't fair. So why should death be any different?
1. Familiarity in Death

**Disclaimer for Whole Story:**** Anything you recognize is property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and other affiliations.**

**Formal Summary:**** What if during the final battle, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley had died and Voldemort survived? What if the war continued with only two-thirds of the Golden Trio and with a rebuilt collection of horcruxes to find and destroy? But that's no longer Hermione's concern. She's dead and the only thing she should concern herself with is resting in peace. But the god's have other plans for her and Ginny- plans to rectify a world gone mad. A world that will, in time, fall to pieces. But there's a catch. Hermione and Ginny can singlehandedly save the world from ever knowing Voldemort, but to do so, they must lose one of two things: their souls, or their reason.**

**Author's Note:**** Okay, so on Micosoft Word, it's about three pages in before Hermione is actually killed. I understand some readers prefer a story that's quick to the start but I feel I need a proper starting point. Either way, the three pages do come in to mean something deeper and so it's best to get that in before the true plot kicks into gear.**

**1: Familiarity in Death**

"One final chance, _Mudblood!_" Voldemort spat at Hermione Granger, the tip of his wand jammed forcefully against her thyroid gland. "Where is Potter?" Involuntarily, she cringed, expecting a 'persuasive' cruciatus curse to emerge from the weapon pressed into her throat. But it didn't, causing her muscles to relax slightly and her bleary eyes to open.

His face loomed just inches from hers, the red, narrow eyes set in frustration, the slits of his nostrils flaring with impatience and rage. His gray skin was pulled gaunt over his bony facial structure and his lipless mouth sat in a grim line of anger and determination. He was going to break her if that's what he had to do.

"I don't know," she answered, feeling ashamed at the way her voice shook. Where was the Gryffindor? Where was the stereotype of ignorant courage, laughing at Voldemort, spitting at him, telling him she'd rather die than tell him a shred of helpful information? _'Hiding,'_ she thought as she succumbed to the throat-burning scream from the cruciatus. _'Hiding because that's not me. I don't want to die…'_ Her skin seemed as if it was being cut from her bones with white hot swords and like her body was being torn to shreds from the inside out. It was a shock, even to her. She was meant to be the epitome of blinded and jaded bravery, meant to put her life on the line. But she didn't want to. Oh no, don't get her wrong- Hermione Granger was, and will never be, a Wormtail. If she had to die in order for Harry to be safe and capable of defeating Voldemort, she would. In a heartbeat. But she couldn't help but mourn the husband she would never love, the children she would never have, and the life she would never know.

The crucio stopped and her breathing, ragged and uneven, was desperate. Her throat was raw and it was a frantic scramble to cool her frazzled nerves. But of course, no such respite was allowed and she felt the sharp pressure of strong hands slam her shoulders against the wall. A yowl of pain escaped her lips as fresh tears prickled her eyes.

"You lying filth!" the wizard yelled, losing his patience for the girl. If she didn't reveal anything of true value to him soon, he would surely not be able to contain himself and would kill her. When that time should come- and it would, knowing the obnoxious chivalry of the Gryffindors- he could only pray to Merlin that she had no knowledge that he could've been privy to had he exercised patience.

The interrogation continued for what felt to Hermione as hours but was, in all actuality, only an hour and a half. Her lip seemed to be in a permanent state of quivering and her body was limp, yet heavy and weighted down with the torment. The chocolate brown eyes, which hitherto had been warm and hopeful, were now listless and glazed over, the life fading from within them which each passing minute. She was a ragdoll that a bratty child had thrown around in a tantrum, leaving her limbs loose, her hair a tangle of honey colored locks and dried blood (Voldemort had gotten creative when curses had failed), and her clothing was torn and askew from all the quick, harsh writhing.

Now, nearly reaching the second hour, Voldemort felt more than frustration. He felt practically murderous. He needed to find Potter and that damned Gryffindor was too loyal. Why? He turned to her, watching as her chest just barely rose and sank to ensure the continuation of life. She was a mess of blood, grime and brokenness. The grotesque lump in her wrist and the awkward, painful-looking angle of her elbow suggested that he had managed to break her all the way down to her skeleton. Yet, _she still wouldn't talk._

His crimson eyes fell onto her brown ones, noting the lack of luster, and they stared at each other for the briefest of moments. Someone less informed on the circumstances might've confused the transaction for a fonder one, one where emotions were exchanged and where empathy was formed. Instead, the only emotion that could be seen was confusion hidden beneath murderous intent, and regret mingled with the hopelessness. Empathy and all its kindred were nowhere to be seen.

"Why do you fight for him? Why are you going to die for him?" his voice was cold, yet sincere- he truly wanted to know her reasoning.

Hermione remained still for a moment, her mind reeling with his words. _'Die for him…'_ she knew she probably would die, she knew it the moment he found her hiding underneath a staircase and dragged her out by her hair. But the realization finally came to her.

She was going to die.

'_I wish I never got the damn letter,'_ she thought, recalling the month before her eleventh birthday when she, very confused and frightened, received a letter from an owl. _'What are you saying! You're grateful for it!'_ an inner voice shouted out to her, but she couldn't agree with her mind. Not this time.

She was pulled from her reverie by a sharp kick to the ribs, eliciting a hiss of pain as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"I asked you a question, Mudblood!" Voldemort shouted, the term dripping like venom from a snake's fang.

She closed her eyes momentarily as she summoned all her strength and moved to sit herself up. She could accept death, but she couldn't- and wouldn't- accept death while she lay at his feet. Her breath came out in hisses through teeth as her bones and body begged her to lie down, but she continued to move until she was propped up on her elbows. Voldemort seemed amused if anything.

"Why?" she asked, ignoring his question. If she was going to die, she was going to die hitting a nerve. "Why do you feel the need to do this? What happened to you to make you do this?"

Nerve hit.

If Hermione had a quicker eye, she would have seen the fleeting look in Voldemort's face at her words. A look filled with shock, anger, hatred and…vulnerability, fear and hopelessness. But unfortunately, a human cannot follow the quick inner-shifting of a monster and, being only a human to a monster, Hermione could only see the look of absolute rage and ferocity.

His lip twitched as he slowly held his wand out, the yew wood shook with his arm as he said the words that would be the last words to grace Hermione Granger's ears.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

The green light hit her with such intensity that her small form was thrown against the stone wall, creating a slight crater which was noticeable after her body slid back down to the ground. Though it hardly seemed appropriate to call it her body now.

The body no longer harbored a soul to be the possession of.

-X-

Death wasn't at all what she imagined, even though she would never admit she truly thought of it that in depth. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't peaceful either. Instead, her stomach twisted in nausea as she felt a somewhat uncomfortable feeling invade her entire body. Her body had gone numb, though not in the unfeeling sort of way. It was the prickling, heavy numb feeling you get from putting too much weight on one limb at a time, though all over. She began to rise, her now dead eyes watching Voldemort as he angrily kicked her corpse and she couldn't help but huff indignantly.

'_I'll make sure Harry dances on your grave twice over for that,'_ she thought bitterly, wondering if you could even send messages like that when you're dead. She would have done it herself, had she the proper body to dance with.

She looked around uncomfortably at the place where she met her final moments- Dumbledore's office. Or rather, the Headmaster's office; as it didn't belong to Dumbledore and now it didn't belong to Snape, as both were dead. She frowned, swallowing a lump in her throat as she saw the portraits, askew, some even burnt through. The portrait belonging to Dumbledore though was the most heart wrenching.

In true Voldemort fashion, the dark wizard wanted nothing more than for Dumbledore to stay and watch the torture and eventual death of one of his prized students. She supposed it was meant to represent how much Voldemort had the upper hand but she knew the wise old man would never fall into such tricks. But still, the portrait looked older, far older than she'd ever seen him. His face was sober and his eyes lacked the characteristic twinkle she had to know and love and, on occasion, despise.

She felt ashamed for having died in front him, for having not put up stronger fight. She felt her eyes heat up and moisten but then again…_'Can I still cry? Do I even have eyes to cry with?'_ Her thought process was interrupted by angered slamming of the door as Voldemort left and then the soft call of her name.

Her head turned to both sources of noise, the door first, then the voice second. Her eyes came to fall on Dumbledore, who offered a hopeful, if not sad, smile.

"You can see me?" she asked, her eyes wide. Voldemort hadn't been able, she was sure of that.

At this point the twinkle returned and his smile became one of amusement. "Well, my dear, like kind can see like kind," was his answer, and she let her head drop as the heat and moistening returned.

"So I am dead then? This isn't just an out-of-body experience?" she questioned, knowing before she even opened her mouth how ridiculous she sounded.

He shook his head solemnly. "I'm afraid not. But if you come with me there is someone who is very intrigued on meeting you and may…assist in your situation for a favor."

Her brow furrowed, confused at his words. As far as she knew- and she was proud in the fact that she knew a great deal- there was no way to return life to those who have died. Not even Dumbledore could offer such magic and she was sure he wouldn't if he could. _"Death is but the next great adventure,"_ he had told her once, proving that he preferred the work of Destiny than the magic of everlasting life.

At the way her brows knitted together and as her eyes misted over with thought, he said, "All answers will come in due time, Miss Granger. Now, come with me. It is rude to keep our host waiting, even if he, and we, have all the time in the world." She grimaced at his last sentence, but came over to his portrait anyway, watching in amazement as he reached a strong, painted hand through the surface of the portrait and offered it to her. She hesitated, not sure if she truly wanted to accept death. But then again, she couldn't just hope her body would wake up and go searching for her soul now could she? So with a sigh she looked around the room she had died in, torn apart and disgraced. And, lying so close to the fireplace that she feared it would catch aflame, was her body. She almost felt guilty for the way she looked in death, knowing that it was a gruesome way for Harry and Ron to find her. Blood surrounded her, covered her face and chest. Her hair was matted down by the same substance and several bones were clearly broken, some sticking out horrifically beneath the stretched skin. But for some reason, it was her eyes that made her feel sick.

Maybe it was the deadness in them, the fact that nothing lay beneath them to warm them, make them alive again. Or maybe it was the way that they were wide open, taking everything in without truly seeing it. Or possibly it was the fact that they harbored no emotion, devoid of any and all intuition and feeling. That was the most likely cause, the inhuman glint of indifference that made her hate her own form.

Quickly, she turned back to Dumbledore and took his hand, letting him pull her into the portrait. She couldn't help but close her eyes and keep them closed until her feet landed on solid ground. When she finally opened them, she was standing in the luxurious room depicted in the portrait. A regal looking area decorated in rich crimson tones and brilliant golden hues. She smirked somewhat despite herself, thinking, _'Ever the Gryffindor at heart.'_

"Miss Granger, have a seat there, if you will," an unfamiliar voice called to her. Swiveling around to find the voice's owner, she saw two men in the corner of the room, one sitting behind a desk and the other, in front of it. The man behind the desk was decidedly an angel, she thought, looking at his long, gold hair and his ivory skin, flawless as it was pulled softly over a strong facial structure. His eyes were a blue gray so clear and light that they sent a shiver down her spine.

The other man was the exact opposite of the angel, with unruly black curls falling down to his shoulder. His skin was slightly golden and his eyes were a dark, emerald green with flecks of gold swirling throughout. While the other man had a pointed, regal looking face, this man had a face marked with soft curves and high cheekbones. His demeanor was looser than the other and a seemingly ever-present, lopsided smirk was gracing his features.

The two men were possibly the most handsome men she had and would ever see.

"This," Dumbledore said, pointing towards the angel, "is Clockwork. The other one is-"

Before he could finish, the man grabbed Hermione's hand delicately and placed a gentle kiss on her skin, looking at her afterwards with a winning smile as he said, "Bonifatious, Madame, is at your service."

Clockwork tsked slightly and shook his head at his companion's behavior but Dumbledore merely smiled.

"Not as if it isn't nice to meet you all," Hermione said, turning to both in turn. "I'm still confused as to why I'm here. Could you…"

Clockwork raised his hand up to silence her, causing her to frown, slightly insulted by such a dismissive gesture. "We are expecting one more person to join us and we'd prefer to have everyone present before we go into detail," he explained, his voice clipped yet gentle and soothing.

"Until then," Bonifatious stated as he wrapped an arm around Hermione's slim waist and pulling her closer. "There are rather…_tempting _ways of passing the time," he whispered into her ear, making her flesh form tiny goosebumps. Her cheeks heated up as she searched her mind for a response, but nothing coherent could be worked out for once.

"Ah, I do believe our second guest is here!" Dumbledore said merrily, clapping his hands together. "So Bonifatious, if you would mind, please stop advancing on Miss Granger and prepare for us all your words as I go fetch her!"

Slowly and reluctantly, the arm left her waist and she could've sworn his lips formed into a pout as he settled himself down on the top of the desk. He gestured for Hermione to take one of the seats sitting adjacent to the desk, yet turned at an angle to face it. She did so and waited patiently for Dumbledore to return.

"So Hermione, dear," Bonifatious started, but was quieted by the sharp smack of a fairly heavy tome against his head. He yelped and turned to glare at Clockwork, who calmly placed the book back down on the desk. Hermione suppressed a giggle as the assaulted man referred to the other with a rather juvenile word. As much as he left Hermione at a loss of words and slightly uncomfortable, she couldn't help but like Bonifatious. Perhaps it was because he reminded her of what Lupin had always described a young Sirius to be like and how Sirius himself was often like in merrier moments.

If Dumbledore had not popped in at that exact moment, she would've found herself mourning, once more, the loss of Sirius and of all the others. But thankfully he appeared once more, this time accompanied with a shaken Ginny Weasley.

"Ginny!" Hermione yelled as she got up from her chair and embraced the young red-head. After a second or so of this, she had realized what exactly Ginny's presence here had meant, and she felt her stomach drop like lead to the floor. Slowly, she pulled away and looked into Ginny's hazel eyes. This was possibly the most beautiful Ginny had ever been, her hair redder than ever, her face fresher and clearer than before, and her eyes practically glittering. Did death make everyone this beautiful? Was Hermione as beautiful as Ginny was? Pushing the thought from her mind, she shook her head and could only bite out the question, "Who?"

Ginny swallowed before saying, "Bellatrix. You?"

"Voldemort."

They smiled slightly at each other, being drawn together in a way that only death could. They were all the other had now, and, as much as they didn't want to admit, they would hope it would stay that way for a while. That no more people they loved would die.

"Now that our second guest is here," Clockwork said slowly, smiling at both of the dead girls. "We can begin."

-X-

The room was silent, each member contemplating the words that were said. Hermione and Ginny were looking at the other, exchanging thoughts without speaking. Just understanding.

In essence, Bonifatious was the God of Fate- a seer who could see the past, present, and future and the consequences of all possible routes of action. He was the writer of destiny and wrote the start and end of everyone's life. Unfortunately, being only Fate, he could not control freewill and could not control what said person does, merely manipulate the destinies to fit his will. But that could only do so much. Even in the afterlife there were rules- he was strictly forbidden from altering someone's action so as to avoid one particular outcome. He could only write several lines of destiny, several paths of life, and hope a person chose the least troublesome. Voldemort was proving to be quite a nuisance.

As much as Bonifatious enjoyed some entertaining turmoil occurring on earth, he was not at all pleased with the path Voldemort had settled on- a path that would, in only decades times, prove to be the end of the world.

In short, Harry Potter was doomed to die in 1999, leaving Voldemort to sit as Master of the World. In 2000, muggles would be enslaved, purebloods honored, and anyone in between would be killed, tortured or used as entertainment on the nights when a break was welcomed. In 2001, all persons born who were not muggle, but not pureblood either, would be castrated or receive a hysterectomy when they came of age. In 2054, Voldemort would die of an unknown cause and would be, joyously, thrown into a pit of fire before the entire world fell into anarchy. By 2060, all life would've been wiped out in an epic war over the next ruler of the world.

And there was a way to prevent it all- a way to make none of this happen, a way to make sure the world never knew of Voldemort. Multiple ways, even. But Ginny and Hermione were faced with a complex and frightening decision to make.

If they agreed, Bonifatious would revive the two girls, reworking what little he could to bring them back to life. Clockwork would then use his control of time (he and Bonifatious were partners in deciding when and how life played out, much to Clockwork's apparent displeasure) and send Hermione and Ginny back in time, to the year of 1944. Bonifatious would then rewrite that period so that the school would receive two new transfer students, sisters by the name of Hermione and Ginny Bonnet. The two had previously been homeschooled by their parents, Elvina and Lorne Bonnet until they were murdered by Grindelwald because of their refusal to aid alongside him in the war. The two sisters were then sent to live with their uncle who was too busy to teach them himself and so had enrolled them in Hogwarts, sixth and seventh year, respectively.

What happened then was entirely of their own making.

They could kill Tom Riddle, stopping the war from ever happening but would in turn be condemned to hell for murder when they should die in their new, Voldemort free life. Or, they could deter him from becoming the Dark Lord without losing their souls, but Bonifatious and Clockwork had refused to give them any idea on how exactly to do so. They had simply said, "Well if you truly are the smartest witch of your age, you will find a way to do it." As flattering as it had been, it infuriated her! How dare they ask her to do such a complex task and not even offer a single shred of ideas! What was she supposed to do? Start a 'Future Serial Killer's of the World' support group and hope young Voldemort decides to get help? The idea made her snort but she nevertheless remained sober to the situation.

"I don't understand how we can do this. Voldemort is…" Ginny began but stopped when she the way Bonifatious shook his head.

"He's not evil," he said, earning a dry laugh from Hermione.

"Right, and killing everyone who won't bow down to him is just a cry for attention," she said sarcastically, almost offended by his accusation of Voldemort not being evil. The two men ignored her comment and instead, Clockwork continued.

"You will receive help from time to time, but you need to understand that, should you do this…you're not talking to Voldemort. You're talking to Tom. As much as Dumbledore likes to deny it, Tom does have something human lying underneath his monstrous shell. You just have to find it." They remained silent for some time, Ginny being the first to speak.

"If we do this…the war will never have happened?" she asked, shifting in her seat hopefully.

Bonifatious shook his head and corrected her. "There are a total of seven possible outcomes. One will send you two to Hell but will stop the war. Two will not stop the war, but merely effect certain aspects of it and the rest will end it."

"And how exactly are we supposed to know which one?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice calm. She figured that yelling at two of the most important gods in the afterlife would not bode for her in the long run.

"As I said, there will be guidance to help you. But ultimately, you are the deciding factor. We have enough trust in both of you to know you can and will succeed," Clockwork said with a smile and appraising nod of the head.

"So, if we do this and stop Volde…Tom," Ginny corrected, "I would still have my brother? And Harry wouldn't die and would still have his parents?"

With a smile, the two men nodded.

Ginny turned to face Hermione, her hazel eyes wide and pleading. "Hermione…we have to try. At the very least we have a chance." She fell silent for a moment before adding, "A chance to save everyone."

The seventeen year old witch frowned and bit her lower lip, rolling her teeth around the sensitive skin. She was right. They could change the entire Wizarding World and give Harry the family he never had…Besides, it did present her with a great challenge. What greater test of her intellect existed than beating Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort? None- that was the answer. She almost smiled at the thought of out-manipulating the Master of Manipulating until she thought of how horrible that sounded. She wasn't going to be manipulating him, just trying to subtly coax him into leaving the world of Dark Arts behind. That wasn't manipulation, was it?

'_Yes,'_ her inner voice told her, which she promptly responded with a silent _'shut up.'_

She nodded before she spoke. "Yes, I think we should at least try." Besides, maybe she'd get to learn the insanely brilliant thought process of one of the world's most evil wizards. Hermione had never studied psychology but the thought of it did intrigue her. Maybe she would be able to find a psychology book in the library, but the chance was slim considering the time period and the overtly muggle study.

"Excellent!" Bonifatious said as he grabbed a tattered, leather bound journal and a quill. "I will start working on your new lives. In a matter of an hour, you will be at Hogwarts, preparing for your sorting. I wish you both well."

Hermione swallowed nervously, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

She had just agreed to spend a school year alongside a Slytherin who had already murdered his family and a Ravenclaw girl and had plans to murder much more.

Briefly, she wondered what it felt like to live a normal year at Hogwarts, knowing she would never experience it for herself.

-X-

"Don't be so nervous, Hermione! You got sorted once and nothing bad happened," Ginny hissed lowly to the girl who was busily twirling her hair so tightly around her finger, the skin was turning shades of purple. Though her hair was considerably more tamed than when she first stood in line to be sorted (years of living with superficial teenagers who constantly berated her frizzy locks had made her slightly more appearance conscious, despite her better want) she still felt as though she were eleven years old, anxiously awaiting the judgment. The group of first years was slowly thinning out and her time was closely approaching.

Wonderful.

"There he is," Ginny said, her voice low and wavering slightly, recalling the events of her first year with disdain. Though she couldn't point her in the direction, Hermione instinctively turned to the left side of the room, scanning the last table quickly until her eyes landed on the boy in question. Impeccably neat hair was brushed to the side, the dark, ebony locks contrasting nicely with his pale skin tone. His face was strong with fine, handsome contours. He was disastrously handsome, she hated to admit, but no amount of good looks would ever hide the calculating beast inside.

He was evil, no matter the gods would say.

"And now, we have two new students to sort, though these are transfer students," a much younger Professor Dumbledore said, his beard graying slightly but mostly auburn still, only reaching below his ribs. The hall immediately began to whisper with excitement. How often did Hogwarts get transfer students?

"First, we will sort Miss Ginny Bonnet, starting her sixth year." Hermione gave her an encouraging smile before the girl walked up to the wizard and sat down on the stool. She took a deep breath as the hat was placed onto her head, sinking down comfortably.

After a moment or two, the stitching separated and the shouted word of _"GRFFYINDOR!" _rang through the halls. Hermione clapped along with the others, watching as Ginny, relieved and smiling, walked over to the appropriate and familiar table.

When the clapping ceased, Dumbledore said, "And now for her sister, joining the seventh years. Miss Hermione Bonnet!" Her heart thudded as she stepped up to the stool for the second time in her life. The hat was slipped onto her head, this time not covering her eyes and blocking her view of the hall, forcing her to awkwardly look around.

Suddenly, the voice popped into her head. _"Hmm…interesting…very, very intelligent. Ravenclaw perhaps? No…bravery and loyalty are too strong…yet…ahh…"_ The hat seemed to have found some particular good crevice of her brain as he began to chuckle. _"War has changed you though, I see…still brave, still loyal and still kind…but…cunning yes…determination I see. There is something you're stubborn to do and will do whatever you have to…definitely a trait of…_

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

The last, condemning word was shouted out and she felt her heart stop beating. Again. But she didn't die, not this time. Unfortunately.

Not wanting to move, wanting instead to argue and threaten to turn the Sorting Hat into a mess of scrap thread and fabric until he put her Gryffindor, she was glued to the seat. But when Dumbledore extended a hand to point her in the direction of the table, she knew she had to move.

Begrudgingly, she stood and walked on shaky to legs to the table that seemed so cold when compared to the one she was used to. Making sure to sit at the end with the least amount of students, she slumped her shoulders and tuned out the start of the year speech, made by a wheezy Professor Dippet.

This could not be happening. There was no way she was Slytherin material! The hat was just a tattered excuse for apparel and had no right to say she belonged among the snakes! But then again…

Slowly, a small smile formed on her lips as she realized the blessing beneath the curse. How much closer could she get to Riddle than sharing a common room with him? _Hogwarts: A History_ had taught her that the Head Boy and Girl Dormitories had not been created until the fifties, meaning that Tom, despite being the Head Boy, still spent his days and nights in the Slytherin house.

This was the perfect way to get close to Tom and decide how to go about her mission.

She was going to do this right from the Dragon's Den. Or rather, the Snake's Pit. She laughed inwardly at her own thoughts.

Maybe the Hat was right in putting her in Slytherin.

She truly was getting too cunning for her own good.

-X-

**Author's Note:**** Hopefully, not too bad. Please review constructively. Even though it's partly a shameless whoring myself out for feedback, it's also for actual need. I would like to know if this story is worth continuing and what I did well or poorly, depending on your opinion. So review and let me know. Thank you ever so much! **


	2. A Lion among the Snakes

**Author's Note:** **I received a review on the previous chapter by someone who stated that I should not write based on the dependency of reviews- fair enough I say. Said reviewer is very correct. But I am eighteen years old, working on getting into college, starting my life, and working on my own, original stories. That being said, it can become rather time consuming and wasteful if not enough people are enjoying the story. As much as I love writing, I have my own stories to write and fan fiction is a more a way of entertaining writer's block and writing a story that I enjoy. If not enough people are into it, it simply is not worth my time to continue- time that can be better spent preparing for my adult life or working on a story I could profit from. **

**Also, I apologize if it seems I have a tendency to not finish a story. I do, and have finished many stories on this site (though under a different penname and they have been removed since they weren't of the best to my ability) When I do not finish a story, it is not because I no longer intend to finish it, but simply because I did not like the way it was done and, being a writing perfectionist, I did not want to release it again until it meant my harsh standards for acceptable. **

**To tie up this rather long author's note, I appreciate your criticism and only wish I could get in contact with you to thank you more personally. I've already taken it to heart and I'll inform you that I have all intentions to complete this story. As it's been all laid, started other chapters, and I have a definite plotline to follow and a definite ending. **

**2: A Lion among the Snakes**

Tom Riddle had watched the sorting in general boredom, fighting against his want to slouch and roll his eyes. But he had to convey the model student, the Head Boy who was the picture of perfection and as such, could not, even for a minute, look like anything but. His interest did pique however at the mention of the two new transfer students. Rarely ever had Hogwarts accepted transfers students, simply because the opportunity never truly occurred. There was only one occasion that he could recall, and it was in the early eighteenth century after a war managed to devastate the neighboring schools and the students temporarily attended Hogwarts.

The first girl to be sorted reminded him of a Weasley, he realized as he crinkled his nose in disgust. And for sisters, they looked awfully different. The red-head was slightly pudgy, with a rounder face and creamy skin peppered with freckles. Her eyes were wide and hazel, bridging between a gold and green color. She was rather short too, with straight red hair that came to her mid-back.

The other girl was virtually the exact opposite. Her hair was a dark honey color held in messy curls and her face was thin with pointed features. Her eyes were a dark chocolate color that looked nice against her slightly gold skin tone. A thin and lean body made her even more opposite from her sister, who was slightly plump with defined curves.

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if they were even biologically related. Probably not.

"_SLYTHERIN!"_ the hat called and he sat even straighter on the bench. Interesting. One a Gryffindor, the other a Slytherin. He watched in curiosity as the thinner girl, Hermione, approached the table, her skin pale and her lip pursed tightly as if she was using all her willpower to not start screaming and pounding on the floor. Purposefully, she sat at the end of the table, farthest from all the other students and began to glare at her plate, as if she was offended by its lack of food.

Looking over to the Gryffindor table, he saw that she was not the only one displeased with the arrangements. Her sister's eyes were wide and her mouth was hung open slightly, a very unattractive and unladylike behavior. But the most bizarre thing occurred when she caught him looking at her. Her face drained of any color it had and her brows tightened angrily as she turned her head forcibly to the side, looking less than graceful as she attempted to pay attention to the speech.

Why had she reacted that way? She seemed almost loathsome and frightened of him at the same time. While he was partially used to the fear he bestowed upon people, he had been careful to only give reason to be frightened to his followers and the children at the orphanage. Not only was this unwarranted, it was uncharacteristic. Most girls became a giggly, shameful mess when he looked at them, not a murderous Gryffindor who wanted nothing more than the ability to kill just by wishing death.

He looked down the table at Hermione, quirking his brow at the sudden change of expression. She was smirking now, her eyes set in determination as if the plate was a pretense for focus and she was actually deeply delved into her own world. Curious, considering her previous state of dislike.

'_Now what ever made her so pleased all of a sudden?'_ he thought to himself, a growing smirk teasing at his lips. He stood from his seat, much to the dismay of Abraxas Malfoy who had begun to speak about the new year, despite the fact that his words fell on deaf ears. Straightening his clothes, he traipsed over to where she sat, hell-bent on breaking the code to this family's weird mannerisms.

She was startled when he sat down beside her and welcomed her to Slytherin, possibly because he tended to walk lightly and on the balls of his feet, making it near impossible to hear his approach. He could only smirk at her flighty action.

"Tom Riddle," he said, extending his hand to her.

The side of her lip twitched and she hesitated before taking his hand, shaking it firmly, if not digging her nails in a little sharply. "Hermione Bonnet," she said tersely, jerking her hand away and then…did she just wipe her palm on her robes?

With one eyebrow raised, he internally decided that this family was very much deserving of his watchful eye.

"So what brings you and your sister here?" he questioned, feigning interest. He wasn't sure how much value could be placed in the honestly of her words but he needed to start somewhere if he was going to dissect her.

She swallowed nervously, placing her goblet down after taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "We were homeschooled," she started, her voice colder than it ought to have been. "But our parents had…passed, leaving us to our uncle. He was too busy to teach us the way they had, what with his foreign affairs, and decided that Hogwarts was more than suitable."

Tom had heard the expression _'wearing your heart on your sleeve'_ but he had never thought he'd meet someone who carried their entire life story in their eyes. For Merlin's sake this girl had more words in her eyes than all the books in the library! That being said, he was quick to note the obvious mistrust, hatred, anger, fear and repulsion that lingered in her eyes as she spoke to him.

'_Odd,'_ he thought, as he gave her his condolences. _'Even for a Slytherin, she was extremely wary. But why? Everyone was charmed by Tom Riddle.'_

"Tom! Good to see you!"

Simultaneously, Hermione and Tom turned to see a younger Professor Slughorn skip towards them, his cheeks plump and pink.

Tom smiled at the man and returned the pleasantries.

"I'm glad to see you have welcomed Miss Bonnet to our house!" he said, smiling at the bushy haired girl who repressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Which is actually why I came over here, my dear boy. I was hoping that you would so kindly show Miss Bonnet around and introduce her to Hogwarts. I have spoken with Headmaster Dippet about this and he agreed that you would make a wonderful escort. Therefore we have taken the liberty of aligning your schedules and the like so that she has one of the most influential young man Hogwarts has seen in helping her become accustomed to our school."

Hermione coughed over a poorly hid snort. _'Influential is right,'_ she thought darkly as she waved off Slughorn's concerned glance.

"That sounds delightful, Professor," Tom said with a large, winning smile.

Slughorn beamed and offered a jovial laugh. "Excellent. I knew you'd take her under your wing and I expect great things from you, Miss Bonnet," he said, looking pointedly at her before turning off and walking back to the front table. In an attempt to hide her glare, Hermione swiveled her head sharply to face the other side of the room and saw that Ginny was being placed in very much the same position, but with a more amiable companion. Dumbledore nodded and smiled before turning, happy to see that Ginny and her escort were so well suited.

'_Bitch,'_ she thought, despite her hatred for curse words. But then again it seemed so well deserved seeing as how Ginny was placed with a student who had a clean slate where murder was concerned.

She shivered at the thought. The young man sitting next to her was already a murderer, causing the death of a fellow student and his family. _'If one could call them that,'_ she thought, thinking to what Harry had told her about his past. _'Hermione!'_ she chastised herself. _'Do not even begin to feel sorry for him!'_

"Would you care to join me for dessert now?" a smooth voice said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Tom Riddle smirking at her, one side of his mouth lifted more than the other as he gestured towards the mountains of dessert which replaced the dinner food.

"Sure," she said stiffly, slightly embarrassed by her drift into thought. Was Voldemort capable of Legilimency yet? She cursed herself for not having thought to ask Clockwork or Bonifatious that. It would have been a handy piece of information.

"Are you sure it's healthy to live so much in your thoughts?" Tom asked. She turned to him, unable to even hide her hate for him as she recalled exactly why she was here. Because he was a monster.

She despised the smirk he wore.

She despised the way his eyes attempted to look into her mind and use her for all she was worth.

She despised the way his hair was so perfectly pushed to the side.

She despised the way he expected her to just worship him and kiss his feet.

But most of all, she despised the way he spoke down to her, causing her to sink briefly into the moments before her death.

"For your information, _Riddle,_" she said, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding Slytherins. "I am fully aware of what is and isn't beneficial for my wellbeing and though I appreciate your concern, as forced as it seems to be, I do not need you to speak to me as if I have no right to do as I please." Her voice had now reached a volume loud enough for the whole of Slytherins to hear and- as the Great Hall was quieting down to hear this outburst- the rest of the room began to listen in.

"Furthermore, as most people would know, if one tends to remain silent for the majority of a conversation it is because of want to not be in the conversation. I'm sure there are other girls who would appreciate your attention more, so why don't you go and give them something to salivate over for the duration of dinner. But as I will not be reduced to a giggling pile of drool, I'm afraid your efforts are much wasted and I will not entertain this pretense of a welcoming hand anymore."

If someone had told Hermione that one day she would yell at a student in front of the entire school, drawing unnecessary amounts of attention to herself and possibly putting her on the top of a never-ending Hit List, she would've laughed at them. Hermione Granger was not the type to allow her personal business to come out so uncontrolled where many could hear.

But Tom Riddle's face made it all worth it.

His mouth was slacked open slightly and his eyebrows were raised somewhat. Despite the subtlety of this movement, Hermione had recognized this and knew it to be a response from shock. The gray blue eyes that seemed to be the only source of reliable emotion from Tom were wide and she could see only see astonishment, confusion and anger.

Oh yes, definitely worth the unwelcomed interest that the whole of Hogwarts now had for her.

She looked up to see that everyone was turned to watch them, and only a few were sensible enough to turn away and pretend to be focused on something else. With a slight huff of indignation, she stood from her place on the bench and moved to another area at the table, slightly less secluded but allowing a fair amount of distance between her and Tom.

When she chanced a glance up, she saw Ginny smiling proudly at her, suppressing a chuckle and she couldn't help but feel her heart swell with pride at what she had done. She had told off the future Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale.

So far.

Slowly, the Great Hall returned to its usual state and conversation once again filled the large room, albeit centering mostly around the new girl. If Hermione had been more observant of her surroundings and not so focused on her gold plate, she would have seen that three sets of eyes were laid on her, each with differing thoughts about her outburst.

-X-

Hermione frowned slightly at the trunk at the end of her bed, knowing it wouldn't be filled with the usual books she carted around to school with her, simply for light reading. Though it rarely ever was very light. Dropping to her knees, she opened the case so that she could prepare for tomorrow- her first day of classes- but gasped when she saw her trunk was filled with all she needed and more.

'_How?'_ she thought, as she noticed several outfits that were not school uniforms. Was this even her trunk? Part of her didn't care about the thought of having unknowingly pilfered someone's belongings when she saw a large pile of books that were not intended for school work. Grabbing the first one on top, she ran a hand over the gold letters that marked the title. _Psychology of Evil: A Venture into the Question of 'Why?'_

She frowned, wondering why anyone, especially a proud, pureblooded Slytherin would be in possession of a muggle book. She opened the book's thick cover, dislodging a note that had been placed in between the cover and first page.

The envelope was sealed with a peculiar emblem in silver wax, and her name was written in neat, swirly writing.

She grabbed the note and opened it carefully, her eyes scanning the words.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'd say I'd hope this letter finds you well, but I know it does and therefore see no need in offering such words. Clearly, you could not start your new school year off without any belongings of any kind, and so we have given you all we think you will need or enjoy having in your possession._

_As well, we have included objects that we thought would help you along in the favor we have asked of you. Even though you may not see their uses as of yet, we believe you shall in the near future._

_Good luck once more Hermione. We are very grateful to you and your dear sister._

_Sincerely,_

_C.W._

_P.S.- do not worry about anyone seeing objects that would lead to suspicions- anything that could present a problem is enchanted to be viewed properly only by you or Ginevra._

She couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face as she slid the letter back inside the book and looked at everything else Clockwork- surely C.W.- had left for her. A couple more books on varying topics, a large bag of galleons that felt too heavy for necessity, a myriad of objects, and, the most interesting of all, a scrapbook.

The binding was worn leather, making it soft and easy to open and it looked as if it were a normal book, complete with five hundred or so pages. But it couldn't have been anything but a book intended for her own purposes, as each chapter was filled with random information or information that would not be in a book of this time period. Namely, multiple chapters dedicated to Tom Riddle.

_Tom Riddle Sr. and Merope Gaunt._

_The Original Death Eaters_

_Accounts of Tom Riddle's First Murder_

_Accounts of Tom Riddle's Second Murder_

The chapters continued on as such and she felt her nose crinkle up as she placed the book back inside the chest, not sure she wanted to read anything about the young Lord Voldemort. Her stomach churned at the thought. Why had she agreed to this again? Oh yes, the war and deaths of so many. She hung her head down as she pulled her knees closer to her chest, attempting and failing to stop all the memories she had of the real Tom Riddle, not the one the people in this school were deluded into fawning over.

She knew what Tom Riddle really was and she would not insult the memory of so many by forgetting.

-X-

Ever since entering Hogwarts, Tom Riddle was pleased to find that others immediately took a liking to him. Whether based on his looks and charms, or his academic rigor, he had always been the apple of everyone's eye. So why had that girl yelled at him as if he were a personal offense? After the feast, many of his followers had questioned him about what he wanted done to her for treating their Lord so dismissively. And much to their surprise, he responded with "nothing."

Oh no, Tom Riddle was not going soft and was not allowing himself to be merciful to such an impudent girl. He was simply a strategist. There was something off about the girl. Though many had summed it up to the recent loss of her parents, he knew otherwise. He was too smart to not notice that which others had overlooked and that was what drew him in. It was almost as if she had previous knowledge of who he was and did not like it. But that was impossible, anyone who spoke of Lord Voldemort knew full well the punishment they would receive. An unforgiveable was difficult to do, as his wand was tracked by the Ministry, but he had other ways of getting his point across, ways that were sometimes more satisfying.

Either way, he wanted that girl to have no reason to hate or fear him. At least, no more than what she already did. Tom Riddle needed his followers to leave her alone so that he could work his tools of manipulation on her and so that he could learn all she had to offer.

And if she proved to be too uncooperative, than the followers were a handy back-up plan.

-X-

"Slytherin? How could I have been placed in Slytherin?" Hermione hissed to Ginny as they sat in a secluded area of the library. Of course, the entire library was secluded as they were the only two there. They had left breakfast early, straight after receiving their time tables, and met up to discuss what to do. So far, they had only briefly spoken about Hermione's little show the previous night and about how much Hermione was going to turn the Sorting Hat inside out and attack it with scissors.

"Honestly, Hermione," Ginny said, knowing she was probably treading on thin ice. "That doesn't surprise me."

At this, the older girl's head shot up, her expression telling Ginny that she had better explain quickly before she met the same fate as the hat. She promptly obliged.

"Well, when you think about it really…you're smart enough for Ravenclaw, loyal enough for Hufflepuff, brave enough for Gryffindor…but when you get right down to it, you're too stubborn and intelligent to let anything stop you. Which isn't bad," she added with a smile, seeing the look of horror that crossed Hermione's face. "You're very ambitious. The Sorting Hat never said Slytherins were evil and menacing and corrupt- they all just happened to be that way. The hat only ever said that Slytherins were ambitious and cunning. Which you are."

Hermione heaved a sigh, knowing she was right. But still…Slytherin? She just didn't see it.

"Besides, it's better that way. Once we figure out what to do with You-Know-Who, you'll be able to follow him like a shadow," she added with a smile.

"I thought of that too. It'll be made even easier since Slughorn made Tom my escort," she agreed, rolling her eyes.

The rest of the conversation continued with them deciding on when and how to meet up. Every day, before dinner, they'd meet in the Room of Requirement to talk about what to do and during any other free time they'd meet up in the library for homework and so as to generally appear as close siblings. By the time they were settled on a schedule, it was nearly ten minutes for the first class and they had needed time to get lost in the way that new students should.

Ginny and Hermione had departed in front of the library, Ginny having to go to Potions and Hermione to Defense Against the Dark Arts. After about three minutes of walking around at a lost at where to go, she heard a light chuckle from behind her. Swiveling around quickly, her reflexes finely tuned from the war, she held her wand out towards whoever the owner of the chuckle was.

Tom Riddle was quite surprised by her immediate offense, needless to say.

"I had simply come over to offer my assistance in finding your next class, there is no need to assault me," he said, quickly recovering from his shock and letting a mask of cool amusement enter his visage. Embarrassed, she shoved her wand back into her robes and turned around to continue walking in what she knew to be the right direction.

"Not even an apology?" he asked, taking long strides to meet her side.

"No, because, had I hexed you, it would've taught you a valuable lesson about not sneaking up on someone who personally lived through a war," she said haughtily, not bothering to look at him.

He smirked, falling to quiet for sometime as they got closer to the classroom. He noticed the way her body stood, the rigid way she walked as if she was preparing herself to pull her wand out on him again. Her eyes were hard set and her lips were pursed so tightly that they were turning white.

It almost irritated him how much she avoided his eyes. If she would simply look over at him he could at the very least use Legilimency on her! He had to force himself from glaring at her.

They had finally approached the classroom but as Hermione was about to enter, she felt a hand grab her wrist. Before she even had time to respond, she was pressed against the wall, Tom standing in front of her and holding her wrists tightly by her sides so she couldn't reach for her wand.

"Let me go," she said, her voice low and full of warning. Riddle, however, seemed unfazed.

"I merely wanted to apologize for last night," he said, trying to seem sincere but she knew by his eyes that he most definitely was not. "I had only want to welcome you into Hogwarts and offer my help should you need it. I'm sorry that it seemed otherwise." Hermione's face was still set hard as he loosened his grip some.

"I hope that you can accept my apology and we can carry on to form a friendly relationship."

'_Liar,'_ she thought, knowing he didn't care about any of that.

He let go of her now and smiled, showing her all of his pearl white teeth. She straightened up and started walking to the classroom, turning around only to say, "It's easier to form friendships when you don't accost the acquaintance in the halls." With that said, she stomped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, stopping in her tracks when she saw who stood in the front of the classroom.

"Ah, Miss Bonnet. You're late," Bonifatious said, smiling widely.

-X-

_May 2, 1998_

Harry Potter placed a gentle hand on Hermione's cheek, gasping at the coldness of her skin. Hot tears prickled in his eyes as he came to the realization he had denied so fervently. Hermione Granger was dead.

He had found her while walking around the halls, trying to find anyone wounded or dead. Despite the way she looked, the ugly bend of her limbs, the blood encrusted around and on her, the way she was devoid of color, he had still hoped that it was a curse. That she was just severely injured. But her heart was not beating. Her eyes were empty and glassy, and her skin was cold to the touch.

He swallowed what felt like a lump of bread caught in his throat as he allowed the tears to fall freely, letting his head rest on her cold chest as he held her dead body tightly.

"Please wake up," he said through his tears and sharp intakes of breath. He knew she wouldn't, he knew she was gone. But he had thought that maybe- just maybe- some god would take pity on him, decide Hermione was worth living after all and give back her life. When that didn't happen, he stood up quickly as he violently began kicking things, yelling at the top his lungs.

This couldn't be happening. He needed her! Everyone needed her! He grabbed a vase that twisted bizarrely around itself and threw it with all his might against the wall. His cheeks and neck were hot with anger as he continued his assault on trinkets, each time imagining they were colliding with Death Eaters.

He didn't even defeat Voldemort! He apparated before he could even throw a spell at him and all the Death Eaters followed, leaving what was left of the light side to collect their dead and wounded, to prepare for the next battle that would surely come. And now…Hermione was to be collected. Hermione was to be laid on a bed at the hospital wing, sheet covering her form. Hermione was to be buried with the others. Hermione was to be forgotten as the thoughts returned to war.

Exhausted and out of objects to throw, he fell to the floor, his hands running through his hair as his forehead collided with his knees. His shoulders shook with sobs, not caring how loud he was. He had seen Lupin, he had seen Tonks, he had seen Fred…all lifeless and horrific. But this was it. This was the one that broke him.

"Harry?" he heard a voice call, followed by footsteps as whoever it was got closer to the Headmaster's office. He didn't bother to answer, unable and unwanting to form words. He knew the person would find him anyway- there was no point in speaking.

The footsteps came to a stop and he heard his name said again, this time softer and more worried. It was Ron.

"Harry? What happened?" he asked. The young wizard looked up, meeting the light blue eyes of his friend, eyes urging him to tell why he had been found in such a manner. He still couldn't speak though, so instead, he extended a hand and pointed towards the fireplace, where her body laid unceremoniously against the hearth.

"No," Ron said softly as he ran to her, hastily. He prodded her arm, hoping she would squeal and hit him, yelling at him for being so rude. But she didn't. She didn't move. She didn't do anything.

"NO!" Ron shouted, his ears turning bright red as he grabbed her lifeless body and pulled her into his lap, shaking her gently as if the motion would wake her. "Nonononononono!" His voice was high and breaking as he held her too tightly, held her too closely.

He clenched his hands into tight fists which shook with fury as he felt his tears heat up his cheeks. Her neck was wet from where his face was buried into it, from where the tears pooled and collected.

It seemed to be hours before McGonagall found the two boys, mourning the loss of their closest friend. Sadness brewing in her heart, she pulled the two away from the room and brought them to the hospital wing, instructing Madam Pomfrey to give them anything she could to induce sleep. When she returned, her body was just the way they had left it.

Lifeless.

-X-

**Author's Note:**** A little shorter than the first chapter, but still a fairly decent length I do believe. **

**Preview for the next chapter:**

"_We'll destroy him in a way he would never see coming. Destroy him from the inside out," Hermione said, smirking wildly at this plan._


	3. A Death Eater is Born

**Author's Note:**** Thank you to those who reviewed, set favorite, or set alert for this story. I appreciate it very much. Anyway, on with the story. Please review with your thoughts. **

**3: A Death Eater is Born**

"Miss Bonnet, Mr. Riddle, please find your seats so that class can begin," Bonifatious said, nodding in the direction of an available table to the left side of the room. But Hermione couldn't move, her feet had sunk into the ground and Tom had to pull her from the aisle by her wrist. He led her to her seat where she fell, eyes still wide as she watched the teacher. He sat down beside her, glancing at her for only a second before bringing his attention to the strange new man as well. Where was Professor Merrythought?

"My name is Professor Hewlett," the new teacher said as he stood from his desk. "As some of you may recall, this post had previously been occupied by Professor Merrythought. Unfortunately, she had come down with a rather nasty and persistent case of the dragon pox and Headmaster Dippet had hired me to be the teacher for this year."

Hermione's mouth was still hung open as she watched him pace around the room. Did he make her sick so that he could be the teacher? She was torn between feeling grateful for having his help and guilty that she was the reason behind the professor's sudden illness.

"I shall inform you now that this course will be completely different from what you've experienced in the past six years," he said. "The threat of dark magic is very much around us and it is vital to learn all we can. Which is why I will be teaching you defense, both magical and not."

Half the room groaned at this, while one student, a pudgy girl with dark eyes said, "Why would we need this? We're not _muggles_ (the way she said the word caused instant dislike of her in Hermione). We can and should use magic."

The man bit his lip as he repressed an eye roll. Slowly, he explained, "Let me show you, Miss Yaxley. Come to the front of the room." The girl looked around before rising from her chair and doing as she was told, her blonde hair flopping on her back as she moved.

"Now," Professor Hewlett said, turning his entire body to face the classroom. "Let's pretend I am a member of Grindelwald's army and that Miss Yaxley is a young witch who has valuable information that I want." He turned to her now and told her to hold out her wand, as if preparing for a duel. He did the same. "Now let's start a duel on the count of three."

"One." She straightened her back.

"Two." She held her wand securely.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he shouted, her wand leaping from her hand and coming to land in his own. Yaxley scoffed, stomping one foot against the ground and placing her hands on her hips.

"You said on the count of three!" she yelled angrily, only becoming more enraged when Hewlett smirked.

"And whatever gave you the impression that a dark wizard or witch is someone who can be trusted?" he said, causing her to shrink some as she let her hands fall. "Not only have you put more faith in your attacker than you should, but you're also left without a wand. Can you perform wandless magic?"

She didn't respond. Instead she clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes.

"Can you?" he prompted again.

"No," she answered, her voice tense and filled with venom.

Hewlett faked a look of surprise. "No? Well what do you plan to do now? How are you going to get out of this?"

When no answer came, he handed her back her wand and turned to face the class again. "You will not always have the upper hand. And if you are not prepared than you put your safety and life at risk. Wizards and witches are rarely trained in physical fighting and rarely expect it. Not only will you have the surprise value, but you will also have an advantage on them." He paused for a moment and looked over to Yaxley who sat in her chair, her cheeks a deep shade of maroon.

"That is why we are learning wandless defense," he said. "Now! Pick a partner and stand with your partner in the back of the room while I prepare our first lesson!" The students began to stand from the seats and team up, moving over by the door as they discussed the new teaching method.

"Would you care to be my partner?" Riddle asked, extending a hand to Hermione to help her out of her seat.

She wanted to say no, but knew that there was no other person to partner with and that she really should be trying to do _something _about this mission. "Sure," she said, ignoring his proffered hand as she stood and walked to the back, followed closely by a smirking Riddle.

"Everyone has a partner?" Hewlett asked as he flicked his hand and the tables and chairs flew to either side of the room, leaving a large area of floor to practice. "We're going to learn the proper way to block, without magic, and how you can read your opponent to see what moves they will make."

And the class began. All eyes were glued to him in fascination, particularly that of the girls as he had removed his robe and shirt, as he demonstrated blocking. Quickly and heavy, keep your feet planted firmly, have them spread out. Keep the foot in front of you pointing forward and your back foot facing the side. Don't box out your torso, keep it facing the same direction as your back foot. By the time he had finished giving all the instructions, Hermione's head was spinning with all the knowledge. She had never been good with Defense Against the Dark Arts- it was too indeterminable. When making a potion, the recipe and procedure doesn't change. When using transfiguration, the wand movement and incantation stay the same. But in Defense Against the Dark Arts, it was intuitive. When to block, when to fire a spell- none of it could be taught. If it weren't for her experience with the war, she knew she would be horrible at this class. And even now she wasn't that good.

She was killed after all.

"Use this to attack her," Hewlett said as he handed Tom a foam pool noodle. At the boy's raised eyebrow, he added, "We're learning blocking, not how to bludgeon your opponent. Just attack Miss Bonnet with the foam noodle so that she can block it." Hermione bit back a laugh as she watched Riddle awkwardly shake the foam weapon, clearly not used to such a style of teaching.

"Are you going to hit me with that so that we can actually do this assignment or are you just going to stare transfixed at it?" she asked, smirking at him.

He returned the smirk as he nodded at her and began to violently hit her with the foam noodle. "Hey!" she said as she struggled to block the blows.

"Don't move back! Move in a circle! You'll get yourself caught if you just move back!" she heard Hewlett and she did as she was told, shifting her feet so that she moved to the side. She was not moving her feet properly though, and she was not following the right blocking form, causing her to trip and fall with a thud on the hard marble floor.

Tom stood above her, smirking madly. "Was that good enough for you?" he asked in the condescending way that seemed his trademark. She narrowed her eyes at him, quickly losing patience with that damned smirk of his. _'Do Slytherins even know how to actually smile or can they only smirk?'_ she thought to herself.

"Switch places now!" Hewlett called, giving Hermione the go ahead to grab the foam noodle from Tom's grasp and smack him violently over the head with it.

If she weren't so infuriated with him at the moment, she probably would've found it humorous, slapping the future Dark Lord with a foam noodle as she yelled out things such as, "Block! It's not that difficult to do! Am I distracting you at all?" The scene was very entertaining, however, for the students who had no qualms for Riddle and were therefore watching the sight with great amusement. The new girl who had already stated her dislike for Tom Riddle was now passionately attacking him with a child's toy, giving him no opportunity to defend himself.

The sight was so entertaining in fact, that Professor Hewlett nee Bonifatious was sitting on his desk, smiling largely at the fight. Had he been a more professional man, he might've intervened and had them stop. But he would give it another minute or so, knowing that no matter how angry Riddle got he could not attack with any spells- he had made sure all students placed their wand in their bags.

After what seemed like an adequate amount of time, Hewlett said, "Hermione, Riddle! Break apart this instant!" The two stopped suddenly, looking around to see the many staring and humored eyes. Hermione's face instantly became a shade of red so brilliant she would've blended in perfectly with the walls in the Gryffindor common room. Tom, however, was smirking with cool indifference, straightening his robes.

'_How can he be so cool?'_ Hermione thought with a scowl and sideways glance to the boy.

"Class is dismissed. Riddle, Bonnet, over here please," Hewlett said. The bushy haired girl huffed as she walked towards his desk, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety. Why did she see it as appropriate to assault Riddle with a weapon, foam or otherwise? She really did need to learn how to control her anger. Contrary to popular belief, she was not good at all at working through her rage and contempt with people.

'_It's not exactly as if I can sit Riddle down with some tea and crumpets and talk about a compromise for our situation,'_ she thought, ignoring the wry smirk that threatened to come to her as she thought about the interaction.

"_You see, you've killed everyone I know and love in the future."_

"_Hmm, yes that does pose a problem."_

"_Quite. How do you propose we work through this?"_

"_Well, I'll kill you so that you can join them. How does that sound?"_

"_Splendid! Just let me grab my cloak!"_

If it hadn't been for the fact that the conversation was based on very real events, she would've burst out laughing. But now she stood next to her future murderer, in front of Fate's desk, preparing herself to be reprimanded.

"First, I had no idea you could be so violent, Miss Bonnet," he said, his voice stern but his eyes smiling. She blushed brightly at this. "Secondly, I'm giving you both detention." Riddle turned red now, but not out of humiliation, just anger.

He did his best to control the anger that made his hands shake. He had never gotten a detention before! "And why do you see fit for us to have a detention sir?" he asked, trying and succeeding to keep his voice from wavering with fury. Hermione thinned her lips.

'_Lord Voldemort has better anger management than I do,'_ she thought with an eye roll. The irony was not unnoticed to her.

"Because Mr. Riddle, there is some definite tension between you and Miss Bonnet," Hewlett started. "I believe a two hour long detention to mediate the problems is in order." Hermione balked, her imagined conversation coming to mind.

"Bon-Professor," she corrected, hoping her slip wasn't too noticeable. "You can't be serious. Some people just don't click."

"And some people attack others with children toys," he said, but the humor in his voice betrayed his serious expression. "Sometimes," he paused, looking pointedly at Hermione. "Kindness can do more than hate." A small, very well concealed snort from Riddle would've been ignored by many, but to Hermione, who was constantly on guard around him to his every involuntary movement, it was clear as day.

She, however, couldn't help but wonder if the words held more meaning than what Bonifatious was placing in them. _'Kindness can do more than hate…'_

Hewlett smiled at the two, oblivious to the rage that ran through Riddle's veins. "Your detention will be tonight, after dinner. I expect you both to be prompt. Mr. Riddle, you are excused," he said, nodding towards the boy.

Riddle nodded stiffly as he said, "Very well, Professor." With that, he swiveled on his heel and left the classroom, grabbing his bag on the way out. Once they heard the sound of the door clicking into place, Hermione let all her shock show through.

"Why are you here?" she asked, watching as the man jumped onto his desk, his muscles constricting and relaxing with the movement.

He smirked, noticing her slight wandering eye as he said, "Would you prefer I not be here?"

She shrugged slightly. "Well, no but…it was just a surprise," came her small response.

"Some of the best things in life are surprises." He reached over and grabbed a large, leather bound book and placed it on his lap, still perched on the desk. He seemed to have quite a penchant for sitting on desks, she noticed, wondering if he even owned a chair.

She bit her lip awkwardly, unsure if she was dismissed. After about a minute of him scribbling in the book, she decided to voice her question.

"Uh…professor…?"

"Stay here for a bit longer. Riddle was royally pissed and I think it's best to give him some time and space so as you don't become his victim," he said before she could even fully question him. "I'll write you a pass for charms."

She nodded slowly, not used to the fact that he knew everything she was going to say or do seconds before she did.

-X-

"Is he really our Defense teacher?" Ginny asked, a smile tugging on her lips. She did not have Defense Against the Dark Arts until Friday and so had been thoroughly surprised when she learned that the attractive new professor was Fate himself. Hermione nodded her reply as she sunk into the squishy, oversized armchair the Room of Requirements had offered them. As much as she would like to discuss the first day of classes with her _sister_, she wanted even more to discuss what to do about Riddle.

"There was something he said though, to me and Riddle," she said, telling Ginny with her eyes that it was now the time to be serious. Ginny nodded for her to continue. "He gave us detention for tonight, told us that it was for mediation and that 'Kindness can do more than hate.' He was saying it while looking at me…maybe I'm reading too much into it," she said quickly, realizing how ridiculous she sounded now.

Ginny shook her head, unsettling her red hair. "No, I think you're right. He was probably giving us a clue on how to get through this mission."

The two remained silent, not wanting to think about what that clue, if it were one, would imply. They didn't want to be kind to him, they shouldn't have to be. He was evil, he was a monster, he was a murderer twice over. How could they just forget everything he put them through and be kind to him? It seemed so traitorous.

"Maybe," Ginny said, the only one deciding to speak about the inevitable. "We should be kind to him." Hermione could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Ginny didn't want to be kind to him anymore than she did.

"But…we can't…everything he's done…"

"He hasn't done them yet. Besides…who says we have to really be kind to him?" she said slowly, choosing her words carefully.

Hermione looked up at her, her brown eyes wide and questioning.

"Let's show him the kindness Fate wants us too…let's pretend like we want power and we want to worship every step he takes." Hermione was blanching now, not sure how this would help them in anyway. Seeing her look, Ginny continued, "We'll get his trust and get close to him. We can plant the seed of doubt in the minds of his followers…"

The former-Gryffindor nodded in understanding as she finished. "We'll destroy him in a way he'll never see coming. We'll destroy him from the inside out," Hermione said, smirking wildly at the plan.

"Exactly."

-X-

_May 2, 1998_

The air in the room was cold and dry, creating a very uncomforting feeling to all its inhabitants- a feeling one might receive from standing in a graveyard on a cool night. Not even the fire set to the far side of the room could provide warmth. But it wasn't necessarily that the room was drafty, that a window was kept open. Simply that the tall, pale man in the center of the room was sucking all the warmth out. His gray skin made him look like someone robbed a grave and dressed up a corpse, propping it up as if it were living. His eyes were slanted downward, bright red, and his nostrils were seen only in the form of narrow slits. A lipless mouth twitched and lifted slightly in corner as he smirked as his followers, huddled before him.

"Harry Potter is not dead!" was how the speech began, yet he did not seem angry or murderous, as was usual for this situation. Instead, he seemed happy, but only the twisted way a monster, no longer a man, could be happy. He lost the ability to experience real happiness somewhere in between his fourth and sixth horcrux, his soul too distorted and nebulous by then.

"But we have made a very generous blow to him and the other blood traitors!" The Death Eaters only smiled in triumph, unsure of whether cheers were appropriate yet. "His Mudblood friend…is dead, along with his blood traitor girlfriend and many, many others!" He raised his long hands, signaling that now, one could cheer.

The command was received.

All the Death Eaters shouted viciously, wands firing off brilliant, miniature fireworks of green that faded into smoke effigies of serpents. When the cheering had ceased, due to Voldemort raising a hand with long, dexterous fingers, the room was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from the crackling fireplace.

"And now, I am rebuilding my collection of horcruxes. I have already collected some objects to use and tomorrow…tomorrow we will find those who have caused us much grief and make them useful for once! The will provide the death I need for my horcruxes." Cheering broke out once more, a horrible display of sadism.

With a wave of his hand, tables appeared, piled high with plates and goblets. The door was simultaneously thrown open and revealed people, holding platters filled with food as they marched slowly and solemnly, ankles bound in a constriction curse that made them walk at a certain pace. The Death Eaters began insulting the group, calls of 'mudbloods' and 'blood traitors' bouncing of the walls. Among the slaves, a tall man with a mop of dirty orange hair, a young woman with lanky blonde hair, and another man with a rounded face and dark hair shuffled along, holding their individual platters. Charlie Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom had been captured by the Death Eaters as they were retreating from the castle, letting the Order know that the war was not over.

Voldemort settled into his tall, wingback chair, watching the scene before him. Once all the platters had been placed on the table, the Death Eaters began to torture the captives, working up an appetite. His thin lips twisted upward as he reclined, the wry happiness overcoming him at his empire. His glorious creation. His world where muggles and mudbloods were in their proper place.

His eyes scrunched slightly as he felt a twinge beneath his forehead. A headache. Having one angered him, reminding him of his humanity, his mortality. He had sought for so long to find the secret to eternal life, nearly succeeded, yet still suffered from such ailments as a headache.

But this headache felt different. Fog seemed to settle his mind, clouding his vision and pushing him away from the world around him. It wasn't an entirely painful headache. It was what it was causing within his mind that confused him.

Before he could contemplate any further, it faded just as simply as it had arrived. The pain was gone, the bleariness was gone. He was back in his chair, staring, with hidden confusion, as a brunette muggle girl screamed in response to the crucio Nott held on her. But not even that could bring back his celebratory mood. Instead, he was focused on a part of his past, a past he rarely ever went to. His trips into his younger years were so infrequent, that he could barely recall his days- much to his happiness, thank you very much! His memories of his life before Voldemort's arrival to the public were ones he strategically avoided.

Yet now he found himself, submerged in his seventh year, recalling memories he couldn't quite place. His thoughts ceased on one memory, a memory of a familiar yet unknown girl entering his house as a transfer student. Her appearance was forgotten, her name was forgotten, the memories tied to her…forgotten. But there was one clear memory of her.

She was sitting in front of him, on her knees, her forearm bare and pressed toward him. His wand traced the pale, unblemished skin as he muttered a spell. With a smirk from the girl, a bizarre, oddly triumphant twinkle in her eye, the dark mark forming on her skin.

-X-

**Author's Note:**** "I believe everything has its place. Mudbloods have their place. Muggles have their place. Your clothes have a place, namely a dresser!" –Voldemort, A Very Potter Musical, watch it on youtube. It's awesome.**

**Preview for Next Chapter:**

_Hermione glared at his smile, wanting to slap it off his handsome face. She hated herself for pretending she didn't see right through him- she hated purposefully making herself so stupid. _

"_Let's start over, shall we, Miss Bonnet?" Riddle said, his false smile ever present._

_Holding back her bile, she agreed without words, not trusting herself to speak politely to him._

_Fate was definitely not on her side, she decided._


End file.
